Crossing No Man's Land
by kujafangirl2
Summary: Cathy Collins has been sent to Asgardian prison for the theft of a golden apple. There, she reunites with the Loki Laufeyson- a criminal, a madman and a murderer she previously helped in New York. With both struggling to fight their own battles, the two join forces to defeat their demons and finally cross their No Man's Land.
1. Chapter 1

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, this is my first attempt at a romance fan fiction. I say now that I do not intend to do smut- there may be slight references but no detailed smut. If you want smut, there are plenty of other good fanfics. I want this to focus more on the characters- both Loki and Cathy, the OC.**

**Please let me know via review what you liked, what you didn't like, what could be improved. I value criticism as it will improve my writing abilities.**

**Other than that, please enjoy the first chapter.**

Cathy Collins was in prison.

Not the kind of prisons she'd ever heard about on Earth, where all the murderers of their wives and children went, like she used to see on the news. No, not like the kind you read about in books or see in television dramas, with the orange uniforms and the pecking orders and the canteen bust-ups.

No, it wasn't like any of those. At least, not to her knowledge. There was no time out of cells, if any free time there was. No beds in the cells she could see before her. No iron doors nor bars- no privacy. It would be just her behind a wall of shining, golden plasma.

It may have looked majestic, but Cathy got the sense that the apparent glamour obscured and concealed the true, almost medieval atmosphere of this domain.

All she could do was stumble along as the guard marched down the gold and marble corridor, a metal-gloved hand grasping her skinny arm and practically forcefully escorting her. A cell of bearded, muscled prisoners stared at her with interest. One shamelessly licked his lips. She trembled with fright. If that was the stereotype for her fellow prisoners, then she certainly didn't want to be let out of her cell to mingle.

Eventually, they came to a guard on duty down the corridor, in almost identical armour- horned, shining, and weighty. He nodded to his newly-arrived comrade in greeting and her escort followed suite, then they began to speak in the old English she was slowly growing accustomed to.

"You are certain _all_ the cells are filled?" exclaimed the guard who was holding her.

"Indeed. And the large majority find good sport in brawling- I cannot guarantee the…" The guard scrutinised her for a moment, up and down- Cathy wearily frowned. "…_prisoner_ would survive until her sentencing."

"Then where do you propose we place her?"

The guard shifted uncomfortably. "I received a request from Her Majesty…"

"Her Majesty?" Cathy's escort repeated in disbelief.

"'tis true! Her Majesty suggested…_that_ prisoner's cell."

Their faces, if not uncomfortable before, certainly were now. "Nay, surely not…" breathed her escort.

"I would not say it in jest if it was not meant."

"That may be even worse! He's a madman!"

Cathy blinked at the two, so much smaller than they were.

He? _Madman_?

"Her Majesty spoke that she felt he would not try anything, that he would apparently behave. She even declared that he might be…" He leaned towards his ally and whispered one word. "_Lonesome_."

"Solitude is all that he deserves, tenfold, lonesome or no!" Cathy's escort snorted, and his grip on her arm tightened.

"Mayhaps. But it is Her Majesty's request, if not an order."

The escort rolled his eyes. "Very well, though I sincerely doubt her safety and wellbeing in such company." He commenced walking once more, heading down one of the more isolated cell halls and practically dragged Cathy along- now she was dragging her heels.

"What madman?!" she demanded. "Who are you putting me with?! I swear if you put me with some insane murderer I'll bloody—"

The grip tightened again. "You should have thought of that before committing your crime."

"I already said I didn't know I was committing one! I didn't steal that bloody apple!" Cathy practically sobbed. And she had already said it, hundreds of times. To all the guards who judged her, to the Asgardian jury. To the King of the Nordic gods. Yet no-one believed her.

Her escort did not answer and eventually he stopped outside of a cell. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up on end. By God, was this it? Was this the madman's cell?

Was it the end of the line?

It was.

The common plasma cell walls retracted for a moment and Cathy was nearly pushed inside. Her bare feel stumbled upon the floor inside- she now stood upon a confined floor. She turned back to find the plasma back where it had now been before, making looking out difficult due to the golden translucency.

The escort was gone and she could hear footsteps receding.

And she felt so afraid.

Then, she heard the quietest _flick_.

Slowly, she turned her head and then her shoulders and the rest of her followed suite as she took a look at her "lodgings".

Well, they certainly weren't empty.

A large double bed (golden-framed with deep green sheets) and matching bedside table took up the majority of the top right corner of the cell. Near to where she- in the middle at the bottom- stood rested a matching chair and footstool of similar design, and in the bottom left corner was a small table adorned with food and other edibles- decent ones, apparently, and not prison slop. In the top left corner, a huge pile of books towered by the second of the plasma windows nearby a large torch light source.

For a prison cell, it was practically luxury. Whoever this nutter was, he was certainly well looked after. Probably by Her Majesty. Perhaps she owed him a favour or they had been close. Perhaps they were still close.

He still had it easy.

"You lucky sod…" Cathy mouthed wordlessly. But whoever this lucky sod was, she couldn't see him anywhere. As small as the cell was, Cathy couldn't spot her cellmate anywhere.

_Oh, come on_, she thought to herself. _What _is_ this? Where's Wally?_

Well, she couldn't see Wally. That noise must have been her paranoia getting the best of her.

She wandered over to the chair and footstool; not sure of what to do, what to expect. She noticed a book left abandoned upon the green upholstery of the footstool. She blinked. Picked it up and headed to the book pile instinctively. It was just instinct. She'd never liked it when books were left strewn about. Defied the whole point of bookcases and bedside tables.

When she reached the towering structure of leather-bound papers, she froze.

The prisoner kept his gaze focused on the book in his lap and remained in his perch- on the sill of the plasma window. She could see his boiling agitation in his sharp features and the wrinkling of his pale forehead.

"Don't touch my things, woman," he snapped.

He'd been there all along! Hidden from view by the book pile! She cursed herself for her stupidity, letting her guard down like that. She'd barely been there for five minutes and she'd already set him off.

_Cathy, you stupid idiot_, the voice in her head insulted.

Still alarmed, she quickly set the book down back on the footstool and backed away to near the other end of the cell. "I'm sorry," she gabbled, still moving backwards in a panic.

As she moved to take another step back, her body froze on her. Her feet felt glued to the floor. She couldn't move. She couldn't speak. She was barely able to breathe.

What was happening?!

"You're sorry, are you?" the prisoner hissed, and the book clamped shut with a resounding _thud_. "Oh, only because you have committed an offense and you know very well that I am a threat to your safety." His voice was growing into a growl. "I could _crush _your neck, _destroy_ you and _tear_ whatever dignity you still possess from your _body_."

The book was tossed aside. Her struggled breathing hastened into near hyperventilation.

"And you know it. You are a _coward_, and this cell is not yours- it is _mine_, as is everything in it. And it will remain that way and you will abide by my will, you _mewling quim_, until you are taken from this place to **_die_**."

Finally, he turned to her, his rage clearly visible in the narrowed green eyes of his pale face twisted into an expression of anger.

By then, tears were coming. Salty droplets were streaming from her brown eyes as soon as he spat out the final word.

Suddenly, his hateful expression changed. The eyebrows arched and the eyes blinked. He looked remorseful, almost, shocked at his own behaviour.

She could breathe again and her legs buckled underneath her, still coping with her bodyweight after her reliance on a cane for so long. Her breath came out in sobs and gasps and she looked down, scrabbling and sliding away upon the marble floor and trying to maintain as much distance between the two of them as she possibly could.

There was the sound of boots hitting the floor and rushing footsteps. God, what was he going to do to her? She ran out of floor and hit the wall and thought _please don't kill me_.

"Catherine…"

She opened her eyes, her vision blurred, and felt herself confined and contained within an oddly comfortable grip. No, no, not a grip, she realised, but an embrace. Her head was resting upon the man's jacketed shoulder, her face tickled by strands of the long black, unkempt hair. She felt gentle fingertips stroking the back of her long red hair and a mouth shushing into the top of her head.

After a moment, she retracted, looked this man in his pitying green eyes as his hold loosened. He wiped away a tear tenderly and offered a reassuring smile.

Her right fist slammed into his nose.

He recoiled, his body that was once kneeling at her height now sprawled upon the white floor before her. His hands reached for his nose and he blinked ahead of him, unable to comprehend her action.

"What was that for?!" he exclaimed.

"For being a bloody _psychopath_!" Cathy shouted in response. "Who the _hell_ do you think you are?! You think I'll take all of that and a hug will make it all better, is that it?!"

"I didn't know that it was _you_, Catherine—"

"Then get your head out of your books, you arse!"

He shifted on to his knees and lowered his hands from his nose. He didn't seem injured, merely stunned by her action. He blinked and saw that she had shuffled and was now leaning against the bedframe.

"I'm sorry."

"_Liar_."

"No, Catherine, I truly am—"

"_Stop it_!"

Her last words came out in a loud yell.

The man gave her a confused glance. "_What_?"

"Stop calling me by my name! How the hell do you even know that's my name?!"

He struggled into a crouch, approaching. He seemed even more confused. "Don't you remember me?" he murmured.

"I'm sure I'd remember meeting someone so mentally challenged," she spat.

He shook his head and halted a foot away from her. This time, she didn't move.

"No, Catherine, we have met. I know it was a brief meeting and a fair time ago, but surely you remember. I've remembered you."

She frowned. "When was this?"

"Last year. In New York. You and your sister Elizabeth were travelling."

"A lot happened in New York and I don't remember a lot of it," Cathy insisted.

He leaned forwards ever so slightly and said softly, "You helped me. You gave me money."

Cathy racked her memories for such an encounter and slowly, like the grains of sand in an hourglass, the meeting gradually formed in her mind. She remembered her and Liz in Central Park, sightseeing. The grey autumn sky and the birds and all the New Yorkers who ran into her and almost knocked her over. She remembered the young man in his ragged suit who had approached and begged her for money for somewhere to stay. She remembered handing him a generous $350 from her purse and Liz's disapproval. She remembered him kissing her hand before departing into the crowd.

"…I remember you." She kept a wary eye on him as his thin mouth smiled slightly in response. "You had a strange name, something Nordic…you were named after one of the Nordic gods, the kind that showed up in mum's old book. He was my favourite character…" She fell silent and searched her memory banks for the name. Her cellmate moved beside her, and waited patiently for her response, rubbing his victimised nose.

Eventually, it shot into her mind and she answered, "Loki, wasn't it?"

He nodded eagerly. "The very same. The very god."

The very god?

At first, she didn't understand, and then all the pieces fell into place.

She was in Asgardian prison, with a cellmate who was named after an Asgardian God who was famed for trickery and deceit- a shady character. She'd already had the pleasure of attending audience to Odin, the king of the Nordic gods.

Loki, the beggar, was Loki, the God of Mischief and lies.

Then, a scream erupted from one of the nearby cells. She turned in alarm and looked from Loki towards the plasma window out into the prison hallway. A pair of armoured guards dragged along one of the other prisoners down the hallway as he kicked and screamed. For a second, Cathy's eyes locked with his.

She knew that look. She had seen it so many times in the recent years. At the clinic, at the hospital.

She broke eye contact and turned away, found herself burying her head into Loki's rough, green-shirted torso, unable to bear looking into such sorrowful eyes any longer. He did not push her away, but again held her, although this time more cautiously and loosely.

Loki held his cellmate as the screams grew faint and a door slammed in the distance.

The prisoner did not return to his cell.


	2. Chapter 2

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, this chapter details the duo's first meeting and helps to explain Cathy's past and what she's facing. It's kind of a touchy subject and so if any of you need to talk, just send me a message and I'll help in any way I can.**

**Please critique via review- what did you like, what didn't you like- so that I can improve.**

**Other than that, please enjoy the chapter.**

_"Look, why don't we look for the information centre and find out where they have some wheelchairs?" Liz suggested as the sisters hobbled down the American sidewalk. There was a constant flood of New Yorkers that dragged them along the blocks of the city and it parted Liz from her airport map, which fell to the concrete and was pressed upon it by a thousand damp shoes._

_"I told you, I'm alright," Cathy insisted in a shout from a few feet away. She struggled to keep hold of her cane, which hurriedly clicked against the concrete in an attempt to keep up the pace. Her sister was separated from her by a small group of businessmen with briefcases and Liz was having to shout over the drumming of footsteps in unison. _

_Eventually, Liz was able to reach them and pull them out of the human current, and held her little sister's arm as she led them to a grassy embankment near a hotdog stand. An autumn drizzle was commencing and cool water droplets dripped on to Cathy's nose as she looked up to examine the skyline._

_They were in New York._

_They were actually in New York._

_She still couldn't believe it. Maybe someone had been watching over her when she had jokingly purchased that lottery ticket with a declaration that she just might get lucky at the local SPA. She would have never have made it there with Liz without that Lotto money._

_"Right," Liz said, tugging at her trench coat and brushing off rain droplets. "Map's gone, but we can either get another one or carry on like we know the way. Where do you fancy we go first?"_

_"Stark Tower."_

_"Come off it, Cathy, you know it's not open to the public."_

_"I know that," Cathy groaned. "I meant I want to look at it. Just seeing the logo's enough. Then Central Park and the Empire state—"_

_"We'll need a cab."_

_"Sod the cab- I said I'm fine. I'm not bedbound yet."_

_"Where does lunch come into your plans?" Liz questioned, raising an eyebrow._

_"After."_

_"Cathy, it's near twelve already!"_

_"It won't take that long," her little sister insisted, gazing wistfully at the skyscrapers in the distance._

_It was nearing two in the afternoon when they made their way to Central Park. She'd been forced to take a break after she near collapsed gazing up at the logo. Mr Stark certainly was an egotist, she'd come to realise, to have such a gripping presentation of one's own name on a building like a landmark._

_That was his legacy. What was hers?_

_Right now, family photographs, memories of her recent ill bedside manner, and a cane._

_Hopefully, she could add New York to that legacy by the end of the trip. Though it would probably be the last notable trip she ever went on._

_Liz's stomach had been growling the whole way- Cathy hadn't noticed until it was just them wandering underneath the trees down a small green area towards the Park. She bought them two American hotdogs and a cup of coffee each._

_"Sorry I didn't notice sooner," Cathy sighed, taking a sip of coffee as the sisters sat together on one of the pathway benches. She held her lunch with both hands, her cane across her lap. It daren't leave her sight in this city._

_"Don't you worry about me," Liz answered, taking a bite of her greasy lunch. "It's you I'm worried about. I don't want to have to call a New York ambulance on the first day of this trip."_

_A colony of birds swooped overhead and they turned to look at them._

_"I've got to do this, Liz," Cathy breathed. "I won't get another chance—"_

_"Stop it," Liz said firmly._

_"No, really, Liz. I won't get another chance. I want to do this. I don't want any regrets."_

_The two fell silent and ate in the dismal atmosphere that followed, sheltered from the rain by the trees overhead. Quite possibly, though it wasn't clear because of the rain, the water on her sister's cheeks were tears._

_"Excuse me!"_

_Cathy jumped mid-photo. The two sisters were grinning into the camera lens in front of a rather interesting statue when the man approached. The younger one turned to this newcomer, who seemed to be addressing the two of them._

_He was a young man, in his mid or early twenties, by the look of him. Jet black hair was messily dislodged and the suit he wore seemed worse for wear. A scarf was loosely tucked underneath the jacket collar, embroidered green and yellow. He was pale, wet, and trembling._

_"Excuse me," he said again, his breathing in pants._

_Cathy turned to the man, the picture abandoned for the time being. Liz folded her arms and followed, brushing her red ponytail off of her left shoulder._

_"Are you alright?" Cathy asked, clutching her cane as he approached._

_He nodded quickly, swallowing air or nerves, she couldn't tell. "I-I…I need money. Please."_

_Liz rolled her eyes. "Cathy, don't. It's a scam."_

_The man shook his head desperately, eyes wide. "Please, just for a hotel room. For somewhere to stay. Please, you have no idea what I'm going through…" he gabbled, and grabbed Cathy's spare hand._

_Liz started forwards in alarm, suspicious of foul play or thievery._

_He held her hand with both of his and looked her straight in the eyes. Sorrowful green orbs begged her for help. "Please," he whispered._

_For a second, they remained that way. She wondered what had made that poor man this way. The Mafia? The police? Something else?_

_Either way, he was terrified._

_Her cane fell to the gravel path and she reached for her purse._

_"Cathy…" Liz started, her voice a warning tone._

_"Right, how much do you need?" Cathy asked the man. His features brightened slightly but he didn't speak- she'd already turned to her sister. "Liz, how much is out hotel room?"_

_"You're not—"_

_"One hundred and fifty dollars a night or something, right?"_

_"Don't you dare. Cathy, it's a con!"_

_She was already fiddling through the huge sum of dollar bills in her purse. She hadn't bothered to bank it. "Okay, let's see…fifty, one hundred, one fifty…you know what? You can have two nights. Two hundred…two fifty…"_

_"Cathy, you can't be serious," Liz exclaimed._

_"Deadly serious. Right, there's three hundred. What's your name again?"_

_"It's Loki," the man answered._

_"Loki? It's a nice name. I'm stuck with Cathy. No gods named Cathy." She paused. Added another fifty. "That's for food and such. Don't you go spending this on booze or drugs, you hear?"_

_She handed him the money and he appeared somewhat stunned by the amount. He almost looked to say, "This much?" but he didn't. He nodded in response and Liz planted her head into her palm and shook her head, groaning._

_Cathy stooped to pick up the cane from the path and found that the man was already there. He handed her the wooden walking stick and the moved a hand forwards, the dollar bills moved into one of the inner pockets of his jacket. It held hers and they slowly stood together._

_"There may be no gods named Catherine, but many fair queens. I thank you for your kindness," Loki breathed. "I will not forget it, Miss Catherine." And with that, he lifted her frail free hand and tenderly kissed the top of it._

_She blinked, his action startled her. She felt her cheeks turn rosy red._ What a gentleman, _she thought._

_Then, he let go. "Until we meet again," he purred, then he turned and departed down the path in a hurry. He looked back once, but kept going. Soon, Loki the beggar was gone._

_Liz approached her sister, arms crossed. "You're mad," she said firmly. "You just gave three hundred and fifty dollars to a complete stranger. A complete stranger!"_

_"He needed it more than I did," Cathy answered simply._

_"Well, we will never know," Liz muttered._

_The younger sister's gaze lingered on his last-known position and both of her hands rested on the top of her cane. "At least he has time to spend it," she whispered._

She'd been given the green-upholstered chair to sit on. It was now facing the bed, where Loki had placed himself, sat neatly atop the covers.

"I didn't recognise you. You've grown your hair, that's why," she noted.

Loki shrugged. "Many Asgardian men have long hair," he replied.

"It suits you. It's nice," Cathy complimented.

He smiled slightly into his lap, eyes half closed.

"So, it's just you in here? Alone?"

"Not anymore. But it was so before."

"Sigyn must be pulling her hair out with worry, the poor thing. Does she come visit you?"

Loki frowned slightly- not in anger, but rather confusion. "_Sigyn_?" he repeated incredulously.

"Yes, Sigyn. Your wife."

For a minute, the god pondered over her words. He mouthed the name and then his face adorned an enlightened expression and he addressed her, a slight smile on his lips.

"How shall I put this…? Sigyn does not exist, Catherine."

"Sorry?"

Loki cleared his throat. "Well, a while ago, my brother and his friends found it funny that I had never courted or kissed an Asgardian woman. Sigyn was the remedy to that problem."

Cathy raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me Sigyn was your imaginary girlfriend," she said, barely restraining a giggle.

Loki shifted uncomfortably. "In a way. I said that she and I were in love and that she was a noble's daughter who would do anything for me. Surprisingly, they believed me- they probably know the truth now, but she seemed rather real. Apparently, the Midgardians also took my words for the truth." The faintest of chuckles followed.

Then her companion fell silent before changing the topic, addressing her. "What are you doing here, Catherine?"

She twiddled her thumbs and her gaze bored into her lap. He heard her inhale.

"I stole a golden apple…well, they…they think I did."

He leaned forwards slightly on the bed. "And did you?"

"No, no…I was coming back from the hospital and somehow I was just holding this apple…and it was golden…" She held her palm before her, almost as if she could see it in her hand.

"What happened to it?" Loki asked quietly.

Her fingers folded in on the empty space.

"It's gone," she murmured. "And I was arrested. Now I'm in Asgardian gaol."

"Why do they think you took it?"

Cathy exhaled wearily. "Apparently, I had a strong enough motive." She instinctively reached for the handle of a cane that was not there, and her fingers fell limply on to the chair's arm. "I was sick…terminal."

Loki looked at the woman sadly as she struggled to voice her next sentence. Eventually, she came out with it, though he already knew what she was going to say.

"I was dying."


End file.
